Yesterday we thought together about Jesus walking on the water, initially intending to pass by the disciples. One of the insights we discussed was that our Lord cannot be contained by “our boats” and further, that we can so easily put our faith in things “inside the boat.”

As we reflect on our time together, notice this poem entitled “Small Screen Communion”, by Kester Brewin, from his new book Other: Loving  Self, God and Neighbour in a World of Fractures, which addresses the role of technology in light of receiving Communion:

iPod, phone
held close
and thumbed,
illuminating so dimly
the lichened branches
fingering the above,
are such small lights
on these paths
at night.

What possible guidance
could they offer?
Yet still
I look,
still we look
so intently
at their ever-decreasing thinness
and ask of them
the same
as wafers
once gave.

- Other, 45

This Sunday the disciples return from their first “mission trip” and immediately fall back into old habits. It’s like they’re living examples of this Wilco song: they might as well be made of stone! But, like His infinite patience with us, Jesus won’t take no for an answer.

We once belonged to a bird
who cast his shadow on this world
You were a blessing and I was a curse
I did my best not to make things worse for you

It isn’t true
I always knew this would be our fate
This is what happens when we separate
this is what happens to all dead weight, eventually

We may as well be made of stone
we can’t be formed

One wing will never fly
neither yours nor mine
I fear we can only wave goodbye

Recall C.S. Lewis’ quote from The Weight of Glory that we addressed on Sunday:

“If we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that our Lord finds our desire, not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.”

What are the “mudpies” in your life?

This Sunday, we continue our study of the Gospel of Mark. Our text this week, Mark 6.17-29, is pretty gnarly (to put it lightly). Check it out, and then this song by Coldplay. Why do you think they reference the events from this Sunday’s text? Here’s lyrics (video below):

I used to rule the world
Seas would rise when I gave the word
Now in the morning I sleep alone
Sweep the streets I used to own

I used to roll the dice
Feel the fear in my enemy’s eyes
Listen as the crowd would sing
“Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!”

One minute I held the key
Next the walls were closed on me
And I discovered that my castles stand
Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand

I hear Jerusalem bells a ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror, my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field

For some reason I can’t explain
Once you go there was never
Never an honest word
And that was when I ruled the world

It was the wicked and wild wind
Blew down the doors to let me in
Shattered windows and the sound of drums
People couldn’t believe what I’d become

Revolutionaries wait
For my head on a silver plate
Just a puppet on a lonely string
Oh who would ever want to be king?

I hear Jerusalem bells a ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror, my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field

For some reason I can’t explain
I know Saint Peter won’t call my name
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world

I hear Jerusalem bells a ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror, my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field

For some reason I can’t explain
I know Saint Peter won’t call my name
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world

Yesterday we read a parable from Peter Rollins entitled “No Conviction”, from his book The Orthodox Heretic. As we continue to prepare to be together Sunday morning, notice his explanation of writing it:

“This reflection was written after I happened to see a car speed past with a bumper sticker that read, “If Christianity were illegal would there be enough evidence to convict you?” At the time, I didn’t pay this little saying much thought, but over the course of the day it began to take root in my consciousness and play on my mind. So that evening I took some time to imagine such a world and what would happen to me if I lived in it. I was not interested in imagining a world where Christianity as a mere tradition or belief system was illegal but rather in a place where a life that reflected the acts and teachings of Jesus was prohibited.

Yet, in the process of reflecting I began to wonder whether we actually already lived in such a world. Rather that reading, “If Christianity were illegal would there be enough evidence to convict you?” – I wondered whether the bumper stick I had seen that day should have read, Christianity is illegal: is there enough evidence to convict you? For if I were really to take the teachings of Jesus seriously, would I not, sooner or later, find myself being dragged before the authorities? If I were really to live a life that reflected the subversive and radical message of love that gives a voice to the voiceless and a place to those who are displaced, if I were really to stand up against the systemic oppression perpetrated by those in power, then would I not find myself on the wrong side of the lawmakers?

The above story simply exposes the reality of Christ’s subversive teaching by imagining that those who exist in the place of power today are both aware of the fact that they oppose the way of Christ and willing to openly admit it. The story thus has two primary points. First, I used it to express the idea that authentic faith is expressed, not in the mere acceptance of a belief system, but in sacrificial, loving action. Here I reject the inner/outer distinction in which one can food oneself into thinking that private beliefs are somehow more important or reflective of one’s essence than public actions. Second, I wished to draw the reader into the reflection that perhaps this larger-than-life scenario, in its imaginary description of an alternative universe, is actually merely a reflection of the universe that we already inhabit. But creating a fictional world, we thus come face-to-face with our own world.” (7-9)

This Sunday, we continue our journey through the Gospel of Mark, seeing that people of God are called to challenge unjust structures. Notice, again, this parable from Peter Rollins (from his book The Orthodox Heretic and Other Impossible Tales):

“In a world where following Christ is decreed to be a subversive and illegal activity, you have been accused of being a believer, arrested, and dragged before a court.

You have been under clandestine surveillance for some time now, and so the prosecution has been able to build up quite a case against you. They begin the trial by offering the judge dozens of photographs that show you attending church meetings, speaking at religious events, and participating in various prayer and worship services. After this, they present a selection of items that have been confiscated from your home: religious books that you own, worship CDs, and other Christian artifacts. Then they step up the pace by displaying many of the poems, pieces of prose, and journal entries that you had lovingly written concerning your faith. Finally, in closing, the prosecution offers your Bible to the judge. This is a well-worn book with scribbles, notes, drawings, and underlings throughout, evidence, if it were needed, that you had read and re-read this sacred text many times.

Throughout the case you have been sitting silently in fear and trembling. You know deep in your heart that with the large body of evidence that has been amassed by the prosecution you face the possibility of a long imprisonment or even execution. At various times throughout the proceedings you have lost all confidence and have been on the verge of standing up and denying Christ. But while this thought has plagued your mind throughout the trial, you resist the temptation and remain focused.

Once the prosecution has finished presenting their case the judge proceeds to ask if you have anything to add, but you remain silent and resolute, terrified that if you open your mouth, even for a moment, you might deny the charges made against you. Like Christ, you remain silent before your accusers. In response you are led outside to wait as the judge ponders your case.

The hours pass slowly as you sit under guard in the foyer waiting to be summoned back. Eventually a young man in uniform appears and leads you into the courtroom so that you may hear the verdict and receive word of your punishment. Once you have been seated in the dock the judge, a harsh and unyielding man, enters the room, stands before you, looks deep into your eyes and begins to speak,

“Of the charges that have been brought forward I find the accused not guilty.”

“Not guilty?” your heart freezes. Then, in a split second, the fear and terror that had moments before threatened to strip your resolve are swallowed up by confusion and rage.

Despite the surroundings, you stand defiantly before the judge and demand that he give an account concerning why you are innocent of the charges in light of the evidence.

“What evidence?” he replies in shock.

“What about the poems and prose that I wrote?” you reply.

“They simply show that you think of yourself as a poet, nothing more.”

“But what about the services I spoke at, the times I wept in church and the long, sleepless nights of prayer?”

“Evidence that you are a good speaker and actor, nothing more.” replied the judge, “It is obvious that you deluded those around you, and perhaps at times you even deluded yourself, but this foolishness is not enough to convict you in a court of law.”

“But this is madness!” you shout. “It would seem that no evidence would convince you!”

“Not so,” replies the judge as if informing you of a great, long-forgotten secret.

“The court is indifferent toward your Bible reading and church attendance; it has no concern for worship with words and a pen. Continue to develop your theology, and use it to paint pictures of love. We have no interest in such armchair artists who spend their time creating images of a better world. We exist only for those who would lay down that brush, and their life, in a Christ-like endeavor to create a better world. So, until you live as Christ and his followers did, until you challenge this system and become a thorn in our side, until you die to yourself and offer your body to the flames, until then, my friend, you are no enemy of ours.”